Handler of the Multiverse: Dragon Age
by JulieArchery107
Summary: It's hard being the creator of a multilayered Universe filled with thousands of different worlds and billions upon billions of creatures living in it, but God more commonly known as Mycroft Holmes on Earth 34 that he made his HQ, is not complaining. EXCEPT for when one of his children (godly creatures in charge of a given world) creates a mess only he himself can fix.
1. Chapter 1

"Handler of the Multiverse: Dragon Age"

Summary:

It's hard being the creator of a multilayered Universe filled with thousands of different worlds and billions upon billions of creatures living in it, but God more commonly known as Mycroft Holmes on Earth 34 that he made his HQ, is not complaining. Usually all situations regarding the destruction of one of his creations have been handled by the Gods responsible for said sector (his children and employees), but when he finds out that one of his sons messed up a world so bad there is a giant RIFT in the sky along with a crazy maniac causing havoc, there is no way he can avoid personal intervention.

Chapter 1

"One Big Mess."

Mycroft hummed contently as Anthea gave him Eru's report of the situation in the Middle Earth.

"The Ring War is going according to plan, Sir." the PA stated, eyes darting around the paper report.

"Were there any complications, my dear?"

"The ring bearer's arrival to Rivendell has been a bit postponed by the untimely arrival of Ring Wrights in the Shire, but other than that everything occurred on schedule."

Mycroft nodded.

"Good, good." He hummed in approval. "Make sure the Valar keep it that way this time, I would not like a repeat of what happened previously."

Anthea nodded and scribbled something in her notebook.

"If that's all, perhaps we should move on to the next report."

"Yes, sir." They walked up to a large pile of reports. A normal person wouldn't be able to finish this in a year, let alone a day. Luckily, Mycroft is who he is, so he can bend time as he sees fit. Which meant being able to squeeze a month's worth of hours into just one. "Which one should we do next?"

The eldest Holmes thought for a second.

"How are things in Ferelden?"

Anthea was already fingering though the pile, nimble fingers going through the papers with practiced precision gained from doing this for millions of years.

After about a minute she managed to pull it out the file they need.

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth turned into a frown.

Mycroft immediately picked up on her sudden silence.

"Something wrong?"

"It's Fen'Harel, sir." The PA explained. "The report was not submitted by him, but by someone named Flemeth. She claims to be Mythal now."

Mycroft's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why in my name would she do that?"

Anthea's eyes continued reading through the report.

"She expresses worry regarding his actions, sir. Apparently he made a series of rather questionable decisions during the past couple of millennia."

The Creator took a deep breath and then let it out.

"What has that foolish boy done now?" He took a sip from his cup of tea. Still hot of course, he wouldn't let it be any other way.

"Seems like he decided to create the Vail."

Mycroft choked on his beverage.

"W-What?!" He demanded after his coughing subsided. "Did he lose his mind?!"

"That's not all, sir." The King of Gods cursed in a language his PA did not recognize. "The Veil incident happened at least 3100 years ago, yet it was only reported now because of unspecified delays."

Mycroft groaned.

"I don't think you can hit me with any worse news."

"He also allowed his focai orb to get into the hands of a powerful magistrate who is in the middle of tearing his world apart."

"I stand corrected." Mycroft grumbled from between his fingers. "Did it occur yet?"

"You mean the Rift, sir?"

"Yes."

"I'm afraid so."

"God damn it." He hissed, fully aware of the irony. "Why can't the brat simply follow his schedule, like everyone else?"

"Do we patch it the conventional way again, sir?" Anthea pointedly ignored his remark in favor of thinking of a plan. "We could make the Anchor get placed on a random human so that in time, the Rift might be closed."

"No." Mycroft shook his proud ginger hear. "If Fen'Harel is serious about what he's doing, I fear the present situation cannot be fixed the usual way." He sighed.

"What do you suggest we do, sir?" The PA asked, tilting her head like a puppy. "Such a situation in which we couldn't simply dump the problem onto someone else's shoulders, hasn't happened in at least a couple of centuries."

The ginger god rubbed at his chin.

"It appears to me that our dear, but still incredibly idiotic, boy is trying to fix his earlier mistake. The only problem with that action, is that it will cost millions of innocent lives, and I'm not about to drown in THAT kind of paperwork."

Anthea snorted, knowing he's trying to mask his concern and worry by complaining about work.

Her boss might not be the most demonstrative God around, but he's not heartless.

"Of course not, sir." She nodded her head.

Mycroft sent her an unamused glare.

"We also must bare in mind his disregard of ALL the rules I set, unwillingness to follow proper work and safety protocol, AND causing a failed premature Apocalypse." He frowned. "The boy needs to be set straight, and this mess fixed."

"Should I secure a leave for Hades to go give him a stern talking to?" Anthea already pulled out her phone to make the necessary preparations.

But the fox-haired man shook his head.

"No. I'll be going down there myself." He stood up, his rusty bones popping in protest of the sudden movement. "The mess is far beyond anyone else to fix without innocents dying in the crossfire by this point, and besides, it's been a while since I got the chance to stretch my limbs."

He looked down at his appearance, taking in the flat stomach he was cursed with. "Why do I stick with this damned human body, again?"

"Because of ego, sir." Anthea chirped. "You're so proud of your creation, you can't help the urge to dress up and parade it everywhere you go."

"Ha, ha, very funny." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I like you, otherwise you would have ended up like your late husband Adam, after you did the single dumbest thing a human ever did."

Anthea frowned.

"You DARED me, Sir!"

"I did NO such thing!" Mycroft defended himself. "I said 'don't eat from that one tree', you said: 'Don't tell me what to do!' and ate the apple." A smug look appeared on the King's face. "I caught you in the middle of pushing the evidence down the poor man's throat. He's still mad about that, by the way. You should see some of the letters he sends you through Lucifer. Such LANGUAGE." He grinned, clearly teasing.

Anthea's cheeks flared.

"Asshole."

"Now, now Eve, that's no way to talk to your father." He shook his finger at her in a scolding manner.

The woman huffed, agitated.

"Shouldn't have made that damned tree if you wanted people to just be happy, you jerk."

"One more word Eve, and I swear I'm cutting your pocket money." He said mock-seriously.

She snorted, not impressed.

"AND your Netflix account." Mycroft was grinning now. "No more 'Breaking Bad' marathons, as you'll be down to two movies a week."

NOW she looked scared.

"You WOULDN'T!"

"Oh? And what exactly is stopping me?" He shrugged, spreading his hands in a challenge. "I am the almighty Elohim, remember? I do whatever I want, when I want."

"Because you love your baby and wouldn't want to hurt her in any way shape or form?" Seeing as she was losing the verbal battle they seemed to be having, Anthea or Eve, decided to change tactics.

"Nice try, but as the world's first father, I must lead by example." He straightened his tie. "I love all my children equally, and have absolutely NO favorites."

Anthea began to pout.

"Don't be like that, daddy."

"Oh so it's 'daddy' now, is it? Whatever happened to 'sir'?" He raised an eyebrow. "Dear Me, Anthea, are you using a child's technique to soften me up?"

"I don't know." She shrugged but didn't stop pouting.

"Is it working?"

"Honey, I have to put up with _Loki's_ whining." He deadpanned. "Your petty tricks are nothing compared to what that girl is capable of throwing at me." He smirked. "Face it darling, there is no way you're winning with this God."

"...oh." Anthea sighed and schooled her features into something more respectful. "I shall make the necessary preparations for your departure."

Mycroft smiled and petted her on the head.

"That's my girl."

With that said, he turned on his heel and walked out of his office.

The fox-haired man exited the black car that has delivered him to his current destination.

Though Sherlock and his family weren't exactly pervious to the knowledge of who he really is, it is simple courtesy to tell his "little brother" that he will be unreachable for an unspecified amount of time.

He knocked and, a few minutes later, Ms. Hudson came to answer the door.

"Oh, hello, Mycroft-dear." She smiled. Their relationship wasn't as rocky as it used to, after Sherlock revealed that Mycroft was willing to "sacrifice" himself to save John.

He smiled gently at the elderly woman.

"Good day, Ms. Hudson." He nodded his head. "I trust everything is in order."

"Of course, dear." She petted him on the chest. "You wouldn't let it be any other way. Now… I assume you came here to see Sherlock."

He grinned at her.

"An accurate deduction, Ms. Hudson. Looks like my little brother might be rubbing off on you." Mycroft winked at her before stepping into the house.

She giggled.

"Oh it was nothing, dear." The landlady waved away his observation. "You hardly come here for anything else."

Ignoring the last comment the fox-haired godly entity made his way to the top floor of the house.

During his journey up he regretted keeping his true identity a secret, as his mortal legs began to burn under the strenuous activity.

'Why... didn't… I... just… give… them… the... ability… to... teleport?'

He thought as he huffed outside his little brother's home.

Gritting his teeth the creator of the Multiverse decided to 'cheat' and erased the feeling of 'fatigue' using his godly powers.

Immediately feeling refreshed, he knocked on the wooden door.

The wooden blockade slid open under the force of his knocks, accompanied by:

"Not interested, Mycroft!"

The ageless man smiled under his nose.

"Ah, but you might be once I explain everything."

Hearing no further protests from either Sherlock or John, he just let himself in.

Sitting in his worn down armchair sat his "little brother", looking no different from the snotty little brat that adopted, AKA clung to his pant leg and refused to let go, him all those years ago.

"What do you want, brother?" Said brat spat out upon seeing him.

Mycroft sighed.

'Really, Sherlock?' He thought. 'Does saying nice things to me hurt you, brother-dear?'

"Nothing that would warrant such hostile treatment, I assure you." The godly being answered, rolling his eyes. "I simply came here to inform you that I'll be out of reach for an unspecified amount of time."

That caught the attention of one John Watson.

"Out of reach?" A loud clang could be heard from the kitchen, before the doctor came rushing into the main room, clothes now dripping with water. "What do you mean 'out of reach'?! When will you be back?! For how long?! I will be able to call you if Sherlock does something stupid and lands himself in jail, right?! Just because you're going who-knows-where doesn't mean you'll be completely out of touch, right?!"

Mycroft chuckled, while Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Not to worry, dear Watson." The 'elder Holmes' assured the poor man. "While I won't be reachable for the majority of my little trip, rest assured that actions have already been put in place to ensure Sherlock stays out of trouble, regardless of what he does." He then turned to Sherlock his gaze sharpening. "Just don't get any silly ideas, Sherly. My influence may be vast, but don't delude yourself that it can protect you from serious consequences." He, of course, meant murder. 'Sherlock already has the blood of another staining his hands, and it took Hades hours upon hours of paperwork to bleach it off his files.' Mycroft glared hard at the adopted little mortal. 'I do not wish to put him through that horrid process again, he already has enough on his plate without the additional baggage.'

Sherlock, seemingly knowing what he was thinking, rolled his eyes yet again.

"Relax, brother-dear, I'll be good while you're gone."

He was lying, and both of them knew it.

The curly haired brat already had plans for when Mycroft wasn't watching his every move, and was absolutely itching to put them into motion.

For a moment all they did was glare at each other, hidden God and mere mortal, one in warning, the other in rebellion.

'Don't do anything stupid.' Mycroft's icy eyes seemed to say.

'Why not? You won't be here to stop me.' Sherlock's eyes crinkled in response.

'I also won't be here to save up, if you end up doing something that disagrees with the laws of this country.' Mycroft's gaze sharpened and he allowed a bit of his true power leak into his irises. 'Your safety net will be null and void.'

The detective suddenly snorted.

'You act as if I need it.'

'You might think you can go without it… but I believe your companion would beg to differ.'

Sherlock made an angry face in his direction.

'He has no reason for worry.'

The fox-haired man smiled raising an eyebrow.

'Oh?' He then grinned. 'Then perhaps I should tell him about the stink-bomb waiting for him in the fridge?'

Sherlock's frown deepened.

'Don't you dare!'

"So… where are you heading, Mycroft?" The elder 'Holmes' was saved from replying by the doctor himself, reminding the both of them that he is still, in fact, in the room.

Turning his attention away from his 'sibling', the Shadow behind the British Government gave the blonde man a small but genuine smile.

"Nowhere spectacular, I'm afraid." That was a lie, of course. As much as he likes the good doctor, he can't very well say he's going to an alternative universe to clean up a giant mess one of his, less academically gifted, children created. "The leader of Germany has asked me to come discuss the possible solution to the immigration problem plaguing their, and many other, countries." He frowned, needing to add more credibility to the lie. "The discussion is unlikely to end very quickly so I ensured that the country will not implode on itself for at least a month, while I'm gone."

The news shocked the poor single father he nearly fell backwards.

"A m-month?! You'll be gone for more than a month?!"

'Well technically I will be gone for much longer, but to you I should arrive precisely in 30 days.'

Ah... the many perks of the Universe practically bending to your will...

"Worry not, John." He tried to calm the man down. "Even if Sherlock decides to blow up a foreign embassy for, as the kids would say, 'shits and giggles', my people are instructed to keep him out of jail."

John let out a breath of relief, hearing the reassurance.

"Even if it's the North Korean one?" The bratty detective asked, a mischievous smile gracing his lips.

"Sherlock!" Watson immediately rounded on his best friend. "Don't you dare! Don't you bloody blow up an embassy belonging to one of the countries that are both trigger-happy and have access to nuclear bombs!"

"Relax, John." Sherlock sounded annoyed with his friend's paranoia. "It was just a joke, I never planned on blowing that particular embassy, anyway."

But John didn't calm down, in fact, he became even more worried and frantic. Acting as if Mycroft's back has already been turned and he's all on his own when it comes to dealing with the detective.

"That's not much better!"

Taking advantage of the squabble that broke out between the duo, Mycroft slipped out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

"How did the visit to Baker Street go, sir?" Anthea asked upon his arrival back in the office.

"About as well as it usually does." He answered vaguely, unbuttoning his expensive suit jacket and placing it on the coat hanger. "Sherlock is going to cause trouble the minute I leave, so be sure to watch out for anything connected with "explosions" and "fire"."

"..." The eldest woman alive blinked, taken off guard. "Sir?"

He shook his head.

"Just be sure to keep those two things in mind, alright?"

With that said, the man began preparations for his trip.

The situation presented to him did not look good. Billions of lives were at stake, there was a hole in the sky, the people in charge were 99% idiots, and some meddling magistrate was out to find the Golden City and take down the "gods".

But, thankfully, the situation hasn't yet escalated to where it's impossible to salvage, Mycroft believed he owed Elgar'nan for it.

He found it fitting that he's the one going to clean it all up.

It is only logical for a father to fix the mistakes of his wayward son, after all.

And Mycroft prided himself a good parent. Not only because he was the first to ever acquire the title with the birth of Hades and his siblings on Earth-Prime.

But also because all of his children were responsible and fair rulers of their respective Worlds, bringing him pride with their actions.

All… except for Fen'Harel.

It was his actions during the past few millennia that have caused this massive disturbance in his assigned world, and therefore he will be punished accordingly.

"I truly hope he has a good explanation for all this…" He muttered while changing into clothes that are appropriate for the universe he is about to be transported into.

"I wouldn't worry, sir." Anthea said, handing him some high-knee boots. "If I know him even half as well as I as think I do, he has about fifty different reasons why he did what he did."

Mycroft chuckled.

"Well then… they better be good."


	2. Chapter 2

"Handler of the Multiverse: Dragon Age"

Chapter: 2

"The Rift"

When Mycroft woke up his head felt groggy and his body sore. He groaned, shaking his head to get rid of the dizziness.

' _Note to self_ ' He thought. ' _Never attempt a trip between worlds after eating cake. It makes you feel stiff._ '

The God of all creation managed to blink a few times before his left hand suddenly exploded with green energy.

"What in the-" Shocked and more than a bit confused, Mycroft looked down at his left hand to see why exactly is it behaving so strangely.

Doing so allowed him to learn all of three things.

One, he was kneeling on the ground with his hands bound in a very dark room.

Two, he was surrounded by four armed men that were pointing their swords at him.

And three, his left palm was now adorned with a straight line going across it, which seemed to be the reason his hand was behaving like a hand-held nuclear weapon.

' _Well.._.' Mycroft thought to himself, rather dumbly. ' _ **That** certainly wasn't there before_.'

Just as he finished thinking that though, the mark on his hand flared up with green light again, startling both him and his four watchers.

Mycroft hissed then glared at the mark.

' _Is this going to be a regular occurrence?_ ' He curled his hand into a fist, and was glad to notice that the strange line doesn't hurt to the touch.

Not even a second later, the door banged open and two women stepped into the dark dungeon.

The first thing that Mycroft noticed about them was that, for a world that was supposed to be filled with nothing but elves, they look remarkably… human.

' _Well..._ ' He thought, frowning as the black haired one approached him. ' _ **They** aren't supposed to be here_.'

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you." The first woman, dressed in a back armor with a giant white eye painted on her chest spoke, sounding both angry and suspicious.

Well… it was very rare for Mycroft to be confused, let alone in such a short time, but... despite his alleged omniscience, he really had _no_ idea what she was talking about.

This entire situation went against everything he wanted this world to be.

It was one of the very first worlds he created, one he wanted to use as a reference when creating others. Its purpose was to be a safe haven for elves, so he could see how a world occupied by only one species of intelligent humanoids would evolve as time went by.

After a few centuries he grew weary of this world and left his son, Fen'Harel, to keep an eye on it while he himself established another Universe nearby.

And now, suddenly, _completely_ out of nowhere, there were humans.

He was beginning to regret ever leaving Fen'Harel without supervision.

"I'm… sorry?" He asked, trying to cower as much of his confusion as possible.

The dark haired woman ignored him, rather rudely but he couldn't complain given the circumstances as he was accused of causing some sort of disaster. Instead she walked right up to him with quick angry steps.

"Explain _this_!" She then grabbed his manacles and pulled them up as the mark flared to life once again.

Mycroft hissed at the moment, his body still sore from the between-universe transportation.

"I... can't." He managed to hiss out, as she let his hands go.

"What do you mean, you can't?!"

"I assure you, I have no idea what this is or how it got there."

She didn't believe him.

"You're lying!"

The dark lady moved to strike him, but was intercepted by the other one, who blended so well into the room that Mycroft honestly forgot she was even here.

"We need him, Cassandra."

' _Ah..._ ' Mycroft thought, gazing curiously at the black-clad woman. ' _So that's her name_.'

"I'm afraid there has been a misunderstanding." He began slowly, voice calm as to not provoke the already aggressive Cassandra. "Whatever you think I did, I'm innocent."

The black haired woman didn't answer, instead… it was the red haired stealthy one that did.

"Do you remember what happened? How this began."

Mycroft _wished_ he could say he had no idea, but that would be lying.

He _did_ have memories of something happening, only he didn't remember ever acquiring said memories.

And that is when he realized that the body he now possessed was, in fact, not the same one he had back in London.

It seems like his consciousness has been thrust into the body of the poor sod that got the burden of saving the world.

He frowned.

He remembered telling Eve that there should not be such a human. Had the system malfunctioned? Or was she too lazy to change the settings, and simply had him borrow the chosen-one's body for the required time of solving the problem?

Whatever the reason… this certainly complicated things.

With this frail human body, he won't be able to use his powers to their full potential, as they would overwhelm it and kill the owner.

That meant he couldn't just walk up to the evil magistrate that was wreaking havoc, strip him off his powers with the snap of his godly fingers, and then close the breach with just as little trouble.

It meant he actually had to do this the old fashioned way of a 'Chosen Hero'.

Mycroft groaned at the prospect of actually having to run around and solve everyone's problems.

What a _nightmare_.

He was reminded of his present predicament with the impatient grunt from the Red-haired woman.

Mycroft sighed and then decided to focus on the flashes of memories left behind by the original owner of his new body.

"I remember running. Things were chasing me. And then… a woman?"

He felt strange recalling something that never happened to him, but he supposed that couldn't be helped.

"A woman?" The redhead asked, leaning over him.

"She reached out to me, but then…"

Blank.

He came up _blank_.

Mycroft frowned.

Well… that's not helpful.

It seemed like this was all they were interested in, as Cassandra walked up to the sneaky woman and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift."

' _Ah, yes. The rift_.' Mycroft thought. ' _ **Finally** , something I am aware of._'

Cassandra, after watching her colleague leave the room, walked up and pulled him to his feet.

"What did happen?" He asked, trying to get rid of the sudden silence.

Once she was sure he wasn't going to fall over, she replaced his shackles with a rope. "It will be easier to show you."

She then led him outside the building, where Mycroft looked up to see the giant rift, and frowned.

It was bigger than he expected.

Alarming, as it meant he vastly underestimated the magistrate's power.

A mistake he doesn't plan on making again.

"We call it the Breach." Cassandra's voice pulled the hidden God out of his thoughts, as she suddenly appeared next to him. "It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It's not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave."

Mycroft scowled.

The appearance of demons is going to make getting the damn rift closed, all the more harder, as he doubted they'd go back to the Vail like good children, if he asked them to.

And, since when can explosions create such enormous rifts?

"An explosion can do that?"

It was then that the hidden God realized that even his voice sounded different from the one he had back in England. He hasn't had the chance to check out what he looked like as of yet, but he'll be sure to check once he has access to a mirror.

Right now he's just happy he's taller than the woman holding him hostage.

He would have been quite embarrassed if that wasn't the case.

"This one did. Unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world." Came the curt response.

Before Mycroft could ask another question, the rift reaching for the sky expanded, causing his mark to flare and him to double over in pain.

Immediately, Mycroft cursed the fact that he gave humans nervous systems.

' _Bloody hell, that **hurt**_.' He thought after the pain subsided enough for him to think clearly.

"Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you." Cassandra kneeled down next to him, close yet distant. "It may be the key to stopping this but there isn't much time."

' _Well_...' Mycroft considered what she just told him. ' _It was nice of the world to give me the perfect cover for my own godly powers. And the fact that it can close rifts? A very nice bonus, indeed_.' He looked down at the mark with a little less hate. ' _You might not be so terrible after all...'_

He then looked at her. There was something he still needed to ask her.

"You still think I did this? To myself?"

"Not intentionally." She conceded. "Something clearly went wrong."

He nodded, accepting her response.

"And if I'm not responsible?"

"Someone is, and you are our only suspect. You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way."

He wanted to point out that, just because he's the only one they found at the scene of the crime, doesn't mean he's the guilty party, but decided against it.

With that said Cassandra pulled him to his feet and escorted him through the village, they were apparently in the middle of.

Looking around as they went Mycroft only grew more confused.

Not only did humans and elves exist in this world, but it seemed that dwarves _also_ decided to take resistance.

Did _nothing_ stay the way he left it?!

Said villagers were also glaring at him rather spitefully, and Mycroft had to restrain from glaring right back.

' _They have a right to hate me._ ' He thought, looking away from the accusing stares and focusing on the road ahead. ' _They do think I'm responsible for the hole in the sky, after all_.'

"They have decided your guilt." Cassandra decided to inform him of the obvious. "They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia , head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead."

Mycroft loved how the world he was now in, looked less and less like the one he created all those years ago, the more he learned about it.

' _Mages, Templars and Chantries..._ ' He shook his head in silent amazement. ' _Dear God, what a **mess**_.'

He _deliberately_ ignored the irony in that statement.

They finally got to a gate situated at the edge of the village, which Cassandra opened.

"We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the breach is sealed."

He listened as she talked, wishing to know more about that Divine which seemed to be in the center of the giant mess.

The woman then pulled out a dagger, and for a second Mycroft was worried she was going to attack him with it.

"There will be a trial. I can promise no more."

She then did the unexpected and actually cut his ropes, leaving him free.

He raised an eyebrow at her, wondering if there is a catch to this action, but she simply turned away.

"Come. It is not far."

"Where are you taking me?" It was an obvious question, one he wouldn't have had to ask if she just told him where they're going in the first place.

"Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach."

' _So she's taking me to a smaller one._ ' He groaned.

' _Wonderfull_.'


	3. Chapter 3

"Handler of the Multiverse: Dragon Age"

Chapter: 3

"To the first rift."

 **SPOILER ALERT!**

IF YOU HAVEN'T PLAYED THE GAME YET, THIS IS WHERE THE REAL SPOILERS BEGIN! I STRONGLY RECOMMEND YOU PLAY THROUGH IT FIRST!

The woman currently holding his chains, Cassandra if he remembers correctly, led him towards the fist gate.

Along the way he saw many other residents of this world as they try to recover from the attack he, presumably, took part in.

Many injured, traumatised, scared and hopeless.

And many _many_ more dead, covered by canvases and prayed over by chantry priests.

He sees all this.

All this pain and misery, and feels inexplicably _responsible_.

This was _his_ creation, and those were _his_ people. They prayed to _him_ to come and help but he was too busy to answer and now-

 _Wait_.

He stops himself in his tracks, shaking his head and looking away from the angry glares he was receiving.

' _This_ _ **was**_ _my responsibility… once_.' He thought, eyes narrowed as he jumped over the holes in the bridge they were crossing. Now… now this district belonged to one of his children, Fen'Harel.

 _'Speaking of which_ …' Mycroft frowned, nearly missing a step and falling to his doom if not for Cassandra stepping in and pulling him towards her with an irritated snort. ' _Where exactly_ _ **is**_ _that dear_ _ **dear**_ _prodigal son of mine?_ '

They finally reach the gate at the end of the bridge, being guarded by two soldiers.

"Open the gate! We are headed into the valley!" Cassandra called out to the soldiers, who gave Mycroft a long, hard stare before reluctantly complying.

They proceed further, now heading left and upwards. The hidden God counted each and every dead body he passed on the way, wanting to wave the number in front of Fen'Harel's face, ask "why did you let this happen?" and say "I'm making you accountable for every. Single. _One_ of them." regardless of his answer.

The boy was _responsible_ for these people. And he let their world flip upside down and fall into chaos.

They were running up a hill when the damn mark on his left hand decided to flare again, making him fall to the ground with a loud gasp.

' _MOTHER OF-_.' Mycroft hissed, caught off guard, forehead pressed to the ground, his right hand digging into the ground in and his entire body shaking. ' _I'm taking back everything I said about this thing. It hurts so much I think I'd rather it be cut off-Stop it, stop it,_ _ **STOP IT**_ _!_ '

Unbeknownst to Cassandra, his eyes flash blue and the mark abruptly stops flaring as it listens to his unspoken command.

He huffs and puffs, forcing his mind to count to ten until the pain goes away, all the while wishing that Fen'Harel's irresponsible actions regarding his designated world, have _never_ been discovered.

Because using his own powers turned out to be no less painful than surrendering to the Mark. His body convulsing with pain and agony as his unnatural energy flew through it, giving him the distinct impression that this body might not be able to take the abuse, if he uses them too much.

Because if the brat had been doing what he had been _told_ to, _none_ of this would be happening right now.

Before the hidden God could start silently cursing his prodigal son to the High Heavens and back, the Seeker (which was something Cassandra had been called along the way by a few people) pulled him to a standing position.

"The pulses are coming faster now." The black haired, buff woman decided to inform him. "The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face."  
All appeared to be logical... _except_ for one Itty bitty little problem that has been bugging him from the very moment he woke up:  
"How did I survive the blast?"

This was the million dollar question as, if he were to examine this with the eyes of a mortal man and _not_ an all powerful God, he shouldn't be walking and talking, he should be _dead_.

"They said you… stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious." Cassandra supplied, shoving him down the next bridge. "They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you'll see soon enough."

…

He had _no_ idea what she was talking about, and that feeling was beginning to be quite irritating.

He wasn't accustomed to having a human brain with limited information and processing power, thank-you-very-much.

The only thing that sounded familiar to the host he was inhabiting was the "Temple of Sacred Ashes" but even _that_ bit of data had been obstructed by a fog he _had_ no patience to deal with right now.

But despite being unfairly accused and his left arm hurting to the point of amputation looking quite welcoming, the most _annoying_ thing of all was the fact that...

 _None_ of what Cassandra said, _answered_ his damn question.

But before he could point that out to his _dear_ guide, she pushed him and they were going down yet _another_ bridge.

Mycroft was beginning to think this place is nothing _but_ bridges… and then a boulder crashed down the one they were crossing and he found himself falling flat onto the hard ice that was below said bridge.

He grunted when he landed with his on his right arm with his full weight.

Cassandra landed right next to him with a full thud. Mycroft would feel bad for her but he was a bit busy dealing with his own pain right now.

"Get up!" The Seeker yelled as she pulled him to a standing position.

Before the red haired man could comprehend why he's suddenly standing, another boulder crashed. It hit the frozen river a short distance in front of Cassandra and a Shade, a dark looking creature with great claws , formed in a pool of green light.

"Stay behind me!" The Seeker called out to him before rushing to face the shade.

"No... problem." Mycroft coughed as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.

While the woman bashed the demon with her sword, another one formed closer to him.

"This… this will be… a bit of a problem." He huffed, keeping a wary eye on the enemy that just spawned.

Unfortunately, the demon spotted him and was now crawling in his direction.

"Oh… Oh this is not good…" He whispered as he looked around for something, _anything_ , to protect himself.

Seeing a pair of daggers on a dead body, he found himself pulling them out.

Apparently his host was a rouge, and those were his weapons of choice.

' _How_ _ **convenient**_.' Mycroft thought as he allowed muscle memory to take control and dispatch the Shade, his host's subconscious supplying him helpfully with the things name.

Once this demon fell to the ground and disappeared in a puff of smoke, he rushed to help Cassandra out, as she seemed to have a bit of a problem taking her opponent out. Strange considering how efficient she looked.

They worked well together, the hidden God had to admit, as they fought.

He, with his superior speed and double blades dealt most of the damage, while Cassandra, with her bulky armor and heavy shield took most of the damage and served as a nice cover to jump behind.

"It's over." Mycroft announced once this shade also disappeared from their sight.

But, just as he was about to hide his weapons, he finds himself at the pointy end of Cassandra's sword.

' _Well…_ _ **that**_ _escalated quickly._ '

"Drop your weapon. _Now_." She hissed out, glaring at him as if he was no better than the demon they just killed.

Wanting to somehow convince her that he's not, in fact, the bad guy here, Mycroft acted accordingly.

"All right. Have it your way." He said in what he hoped was a submissive and obedient voice, while slowly lowering the daggers to the ground.

"Wait." She stops him before he could fully disarm himself. "I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless."

' _True_.' The red-haired man agreed. ' _That would be_ _ **quite**_ _beneficial if you want me_ _ **alive**_ _for the trial I'm_ _ **supposed**_ _to be having_ _ **later**_ _._ '

"I should remember that you agreed to come willingly." She added, now sounding a lot less aggressive.

Mycroft nodded soundlessly, still a bit winded from the constant waves of pain that he's been assaulted with.

 _'Judging from my labored breathing_ ,' he thought, while looking around for more danger. ' _I must have cracked a rib or two… I must be thankful for the adrenaline because, once it wears off, this will be_ _ **agonizing**_.' He humphed, immediately wincing afterwards. ' _Joy. Just… pure_ _ **joy**_ _._ '

Boy does he _hate_ being human.

"Take these potions." Cassandra must have noticed him wincing, because next thing he knows she's pushing a small batch of potions into his hands. "Maker knows what we will face."

Mycroft nodded in thanks, accepting the small bottles and immediately opening and downing one in a single gulp, feeling this is what the host would do in this kind of situation.

Almost instantly he feels better. Breathing no longer hurt, his arm stopped feeling wonky and his body was refilled with energy and power.

If he were John Watson, he'd say he feels like a "newborn man".

But he's not, so he will say and think _no_ such thing.

"Where are all your soldiers?" He asked as he wondered about it for quite a while now.

Surely there _must_ be more of them.

"At the forward camp, or fighting. We are on our own, for now."

' _Lovely_.' Mycroft thought, nodding. ' _Just... perfect.'_

Minutes after that they were running across the frozen river. Well... _Cassandra_ was running, Mycroft just awkwardly slid/walked over the ice praying to _himself_ that he wouldn't fall over and land on his behind in front of this woman.

As they traversed the water they ran into a corpse, which the hidden God gladly looted (it's not like the poor lady will need these things, anyhow) gaining a helmet (which smelled quite awfully) and a bit of money.

Cassandra then decided to make them turn to the right and up a small hill where they encountered (surprise surprise) more corpses. Which Mycroft looted as well, getting armed with more money and a sword he will most likely never use.

Along the way he also noticed a small plant, which his host knows to be Elfroot, and a bit of Iron for… future purposes.

(He has no idea why he needs this)

They near a crest where they're confronted by three shades.

"There! Watch out!" Cassandra calls out while rushing over to confront the demons. "If we flank them, we may gain an advantage."

' _That_ _ **would**_ _be a good strategy if both of us were soldiers._ ' Mycroft thought as he ran along with the back-haired woman. ' _Which I'm_ _ **not**_ _!_ '

But, alas they do, in fact, manage to kill the newfound enemies without much bloodshed.

They run some more and finally reach a point where they could see stairs.

Before they can reach them though, more demons show up in the form of shades and wraiths, green human spirits that leash out at anyone that come close.

"Up on the hill! It attacks from a distance!" The Seeker called out before rushing to attack the demons.

' _Good to know_.' Mycroft thought sarcastically. ' _Let me make use of that information with my_ _ **close-range weapon**_ _!_ '

After taking care of those demons (this was starting to seem repetitive) they run up the stairs previously blocked by the demons.

"We're getting close to the rift. You can hear the fighting." Cassandra mentioned of handedly as he matched his speed with hers.

"Who's fighting?" Mycroft decided to ask the obvious question.

"You'll see soon. We must help them."

' _Well…_ ' the red-haired man huffed. ' _Isn't_ _ **that**_ _informative._ '

They jump down off a stone wall, approach the first rift amidst the burning rubble, and join two people Mycroft never met before and a couple of soldiers in fighting demons.

With their joined strength the small group swiftly takes care of the demons.

"Quickly, before more come through!" Someone calls out.

But, before Mycroft could lean on his knees and take a breather, a bald elf suddenly grabbed his left hand and pointed it at the rift.

The mark flares, only this time it didn't hurt, and a long green line appeared from it leading to the rift, somehow weaving the rift closed like a needle and a thread.

After that's done, Mycroft pulled his hand back and stared at it.

' _So…_ _ **this**_ _is how I close the rifts_.' He thought to himself. ' _Neat_.'

That didn't explain how this elf knew it could do that, however.

"What did you do?" The red-haired man asked, looking at the bald elf suspiciously, feeling as if he knew him from somewhere but couldn't exactly place his face.

" _I_ did nothing. The credit is yours." Came the response.

' _Answering a question with a non-answer._ ' Mycroft thought, frowning. ' _Talking to this one will be_ _ **oh so**_ _informative._ '

"At least this is good for something." He mumbled to no one in particular, wriggling it a bit to get rid of the off sensation that closing the rift left in its wake.

"Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand." The unnamed elf said, making Mycroft look at him again. "I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake – and it seems I was correct."

' _You seem to know a_ _ **bit**_ _too_ _ **much**_ _about this whole situation, my good fellow._ ' The red-haired man thought watching the elf through a growingly suspicious lense. ' _Something tells me you are more than meets the eye_.'

"Meaning it could also close the Breach itself." Cassandra's voice pulled him out of thought.

"Possibly." the elf responded before turning to look at Mycroft. "It seems you hold the key to our salvation."

At that moment something in his mind clicked and he finally put all the pieces together.

' _By the stars in the solar system, he did_ _ **not**_.' Mycroft thought, his brow furrowing. ' _He did not just-I_ _ **better**_ _be wrong and this_ _ **better**_ _not be who I_ _ **think**_ _this_ _ **is**_.'

"Good to know!" Another voice said, one that sounded husky thought pleasant to the ear, making the red-haired man turn and look at the owner, who turned out to be a dwarf dressed in brown clothes and carrying a pretty advanced crossbow. "Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever."

This dwarf had a snarky attitude and seemed to be just as unhappy with the current situation as Mycroft was.

He decided he likes him.

The dwarf walks over, presumably to introduce himself.

"Varric Tethras _"_ He said, holding out a gloved hand which Mycroft shook. "Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong." Varric then winked at Cassandra who scowled.

"Mycroft Trevelyan." The hidden God responded, deciding to mix both his English name and the one of his host.

"Nice. Pleased to meet you, Trevelyan."

The red-haired man nodded.

"Are you with the Chantry, or…?" He asked nodding towards the angry Seeker.

The bald elf beside him chuckled.

"Was that a serious question?"

"Technically I'm a prisoner, just like you." Varric responded with a shrug.

"I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is no longer necessary." Cassandra added in a grumpy voice, crossing her arms over her metal-clad chest.

"Yet, here I am. Lucky for you, considering current events." The dwarf responded gesturing to all the corpses that had arrows sticking out of them.

Mycroft decided to break into this conversation before the two end up in an angry spat.

"That's… a nice crossbow you have there." He pointed at the strangely advanced contraption that was strapped to the dwarf's back.

"Ah, isn't she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together." Varric responded petting the weapon lovingly.

"You named your crossbow Bianca?"

This world was getting stranger and stranger by the second.

"Of course. And she'll be great company in the valley."

So he can now add a crossbow named Bianca to the line of strange characters he met during his stay.

How… jovial.

"Absolutely _not_." Cassandra instantly disapproves of that statement. "Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…"

"Have you _been_ in the valley lately, Seeker?" The dwarf wasn't having any of it, it seemed. "Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. You _need_ me."

In response Cassandra made a disgusted noise and didn't bother commenting further.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions." The bald elf stepped forward. "I'm pleased to see you still live."

' _You_ _ **wouldn't**_ _be so pleased if you had so much as an_ _ **inkling**_ _of an idea of who I really am._ ' Mycroft thought bitterly as he shook the cold hand. ' _But,_ _ **this**_ _is a conversation saved for later more_ _ **private**_ _times, I'll play along… for now._ '

"He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.'" Varric cut in.

Interesting.

"You seem to know a great deal about it all." Mycroft asked the elf. 'And _I_ _ **so**_ _do wish to know how you're going to hide your_ _ **obvious**_ _connection to it._ '

Surprisingly, it was not Solas who answered, but Cassandra.

"Solas is an apostate, well-versed in such matters."

Of _course_ he is.

"Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra." Solas added. "My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of origin."

Oh you sneaky _sneaky_ bastard.

"And what will you do once this is all over?"

 _Yes_ , Solas. What _ever_ will you _do_ once your mess is fixed?  
"One hopes that those in power will remember who helped, and who did not."

The _one in power_ will punish you accordingly, don't you worry about that.

Solas then turned to the black seeker. "Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen." He then looks Mycroft up and down. "Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power."

I do not recall raising you to be a liar.

"Understood." The dark haired woman responded curtly. "We must get to the forward camp quickly."

"Well, Bianca's excited!" Varric popped in patting his crossbow.

"This way, down the bank. The road ahead is blocked." Cassandra continued as if the dwarf hadn't said anything.

"We must move quickly." Solas decided to state that obvious, much to Mycroft's disapproval.

' _You_ _ **don't**_ _say._ ' The red haired man managed to think before he and his newfound... friends/captors/inmates started the climb down the rubble towards the valley.


End file.
